[Sword-calloused fingertips skim lightly over his forehead, barely touching his skin; without even meaning to, his breath catches in his throat, and he keeps his eyes fixed on Haurchefant, the blue widening an imperceptible fraction.]

There is little kindness spared for ones like us in Ishgard, Haurchefant.

[Even now, his wrists ache from the bite of the chains.]

Yet you bear it so well. Some days I know not how you manage it so. How you keep smiling.